Tremble for my beloved
by lightandlines
Summary: "That memory in your head isn't real Wally, it never happened, not the way your subconscious thinks it did. I'm here, you're here and we're both okay. Go to sleep."


**Tremble for my beloved**

Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice, any recognoisable characters or plots belong to DC and associates.

A/N: Please be kind with this. It is kinda AU and I apologize if this is OOC ad for any spelling or grammer mistakes.

* * *

There is nothing but white and the bite of cold, muffled voices screaming indiscernible words. A person as white as the backdrop behind them running but not fast enough, never fast enough. A flash of blinding, deadly light. A skeleton silhouetted, bizarrely beautiful, against the snow and then the figure is no more. He is alone there is nothing, no sound, no colour, just nothingness and loneliness and the terrible feeling of not being able to say goodbye.

His eyes fly open and his breathing is laboured. He can feel that his back is slick with sweat and it had seeped into the thin cotton of his tee shirt. It takes him a moment to become aware of the surroundings other than himself. The still fan throwing a four point star on the ceiling, the glow of the alarm clock as the two flicks over to three. He swallows heavily and raises a hand to run it through his hair. That dream, that stupid obsolete dream, that doesn't mean anything. It had been a stimulation, it hadn't been real, but it still haunted him off and on for five years. Five long years, he hates it but his mind refuses to stop playing the reel every few months or so.

He turns to study the person curled up beside him. She facing him, her face utterly peaceful as one's should be during sleep. It should be the one place that nothing can hurt you, but only in theory as most things are. The light of the moon, that has made its way through the cracks in the curtains, makes her hair look silvery and he can't help but reach out and touch the strands just to make sure they don't vanish like smoke. His fingers tremble.

They move from the crown of her head, down to her temple, her cheek, across her lips. He lets his fingertips revel in the warmth radiating from her skin. He lets the solidness of reality chase away the imaginary ghosts from his mind. Not real, not real, not real, is the familiar mantra in his head. It's not real, it never was. His words never work; they are empty because he has never really been able to believe himself when it comes to the things that matter. He moves his hand to the side of her face and strokes his thumb across her cheek bone. He doesn't want to wake her, but he doesn't want to go back to sleep either, too afraid to be taken back to the icy tundra he never actually stood upon.

Her hand comes up to curl her fingers around his wrist and her eyes flicker open, the smoky irises hazy from sleep, clearing as they look at him. They look at one another for a long time, him liking the look of life in her eyes and her; well he isn't sure what she is looking for.

"The dream again?"

He is both impressed and terrified at how well she knows him. How easily she can read the expression and the lights as most people read billboards.

"Yeah," he manages to force out, "yeah."

Her hand moves from his wrist to the top of his hand, slipping her fingers in the spaces between his. He stops stroking her cheek. She slides his hand down so it is on her chest, above where her heart is beating in a steady rhythm.

"That memory in your head isn't real Wally, it never happened, not the way your subconscious thinks it did. I'm here, you're here and we're both okay. Go to sleep."

He sighs, she's right, she's normally right not matter how much it annoys him but he is glad that she is tonight. He shifts his hand to her shoulder, runs it down her arm before wrapping it around her back and pulling her body closer to his so they are flush against one another. She lets out a small sound of surprise but allows him to tuck her beneath his chin.

She kisses the dip above his collarbone and he pulls her closer wondering how the hell that girl in the snow, this woman in his arms became such an intricate part of him, became an extension of his very being, an extra shard of his soul. But those were problems for another moment in time. Tonight is about finding comfort in her, because whatever the answer the other question may be, in the end he really didn't care because she is here and alive and that's all that matters.


End file.
